The men in his company followed his reckless charge down the steep sides of the dell. Stones loosened under their feet, rattling down with their hurtling bodies. Clammy mist enfolded them as they reached the floor of the clearing, and the rout was on. Nearly two hundred raiders lay dead or dying upon the ground, while to the west the survivors rushed upon the waiting shields, spears, and swords of the men under Papewaio and Lujan.
Buntokapi hurried along, his short legs pumping furiously as he raced to reach the battle before the last enemy was slain. He encountered a desperate-looking man in a simple robe. The sword and plain round shield he carried reminded Buntokapi of his own shield, abandoned somewhere in the rocks above in the excitement. He cursed himself for carelessness, but still charged the raider, crying ‘Acoma! Acoma!’ in almost boyish glee.
The raider braced himself for swordplay, but Buntokapi beat the raised blade away. He hurled himself into the shield, depending upon strength and bulk rather than risking facing a swordsman who might have superior skill. The man stumbled, and Buntokapi raised his sword, bearing down in a two-handed slash that smashed the man’s shield and broke the arm beneath. The raider fell back with a cry.
Buntokapi beat away a feeble attempt at a thrust. Grinning madly, he stabbed and his opponent died with a gurgling cry. The Lord of the Acoma cleared his blade and rushed after Acoma bowmen who had followed his impetuous charge into the dell.
From the west the sounds of battle raged. Winded, eager, and exulting in his strength and prowess, Buntokapi breasted the small pass through the rocks. The mist was thinning, a sheet of gold through which armour and bloody swords glinted against shade wy greenery. The flight of the raiders had broken upon a waiting mass of Acoma soldiers. Papewaio had stationed kneeling shield men, with bowmen behind and spearmen beside. Not one raider in twenty had reached their lines, and even as Buntokapi pounded down to join them, he saw those last enemies die on the points of the long spears. The surrounding wood fell suddenly, eerily still. As he picked his way around grotesquely sprawled corpses and heard, for the first time, the moans of the wounded and dying, Buntokapi’s excitement did not fade. He glanced over the carnage his plan had wrought, and spied the plume of an officer.
Papewaio stood with folded arms, overseeing the binding of a soldier’s wound.
Buntokapi shouldered his way through the bystanders. ‘Well?’
‘My Lord.’ With barely a glance away from the injured man, Papewaio saluted with his sword. ‘They hesitated when they saw our lines – that was their mistake. Had they continued their charge, our losses would have been worse.’ The man on the ground groaned as the bandage tightened over his wound. ‘Not so taut,’ snapped Papewaio, seemingly forgetting the waiting presence of his Lord.
But Buntokapi was too elated from victory to mind the lapse. Leaning on his bloodied sword, he said, ‘How many casualties?’
Papewaio looked up, his attention focused for the first time. ‘I do not know yet, but few. Here, the Force Commander approaches.’ He turned with swift instructions for the care of his wounded warrior, then fell into step with the Lord of the Acoma.
Lujan joined them as they met Keyoke, dusty from his efforts in the clearing, and his plumes beaded with mist. The officers consolidated their information with a minimum of words, and Buntokapi’s heart swelled with pride. He struck a playful blow to Keyoke’s shoulder. ‘See, they broke and we slaughtered the dogs, just as I said. Ha!’ He frowned, but not with displeasure. ‘Any prisoners?’
‘I think about thirty, my Lord,’ Lujan said, his voice queerly flat after the animated tones of his master. ‘Some will live long enough to become slaves. Who their officers were I cannot tell, since none wore helms of office. ‘He gave a thoughtful pause. ‘Nor house colours.’
‘Bah!’ Buntokapi spat. ‘These are Minwanabi’s dogs.’
‘At least one was.’ Lujan pointed to a man who lay dead not twenty feet distant. ‘That was a man I knew’ -he caught himself just short of revealing his odd origin -‘before I first took house colours. He is the elder brother of a boyhood friend, and he took service with the Kehotara.’
‘Minwanabi’s favourite pet!’ Buntokapi waved his fouled sword as if the presence of a soldier of Jingu’s vassal proved his contention.
Lujan stepped out of range of the gesture, smiling slightly. ‘He was a bad man. He might have turned outlaw.’